


sick of being comfortable (think I did it far too long)

by CaseyJuTardis



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Body Horror, Eldritch, Gen, Graphic descriptions of Body Horror, Mark of the Outsider (Dishonored), making them eldritch horrors, the mark changes their bodies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:35:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29169702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaseyJuTardis/pseuds/CaseyJuTardis
Summary: The Outsider doesn't deem it important to tell his Marked that their bodies will change. Man isn't designed to hold that much power, so the mark morphs them into something other, something more, something horrible.
Kudos: 24





	sick of being comfortable (think I did it far too long)

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for body horror. Written in one sitting, might come back to this verse later, not sure. Title from Sick of Being Honest by MILKBLOOD

This was not something the Outsider deemed fit to tell him, Corvo assumes. 

It begins with a new eye. It forms right in the middle of his forehead, inky black and easy to hide if he has his mask on. Three more pop up the following day, rolling in their sockets wildly as he figures out how the hell he’s supposed to hide them. His skin begins to turn black, emanating from the eyes and engulfing his face and neck within days. He’s lost count of the eyes on his face. 

When he brands Campbell, two bones erupt from his shoulder blades. That night, he tosses and turns in his sleep as the bones elongate and form into leathery wings, impossibly big and feather-light on his back. 

It slowly gets easier to bring his old skin back, to tuck the wings away in space that he doesn’t know he has, smudge the eyes away, and be able to meet Havelock’s gaze with hazel eyes again.

But it’s not perfect. 

The weight he lost in Coldridge never seems to come back. Instead, his ribs become more prominent against his chest, until all it’s made of is leather skin and bone. An internal blue light shines from where his heart rests, flashing in time with it’s beating. 

When he slips a vial of poison into Lady Boyle’s pocket, he knows the poison will leave no trace to its origins. Considering he made the poison from his own tears, watching as they sizzled holes into the floorboards of his room- it will most _certainly_ take care of any advances from Lord Brisby. 

The corners of his mouth seem to tear, rows of sharp teeth growing where skin used to be, until his grin nearly tears his face in half. 

When he faces Daud, leather wings spread miles above him to give him extra balance perched up on the roof, he only has one question for the man.

“How do you hide this?” His voice echoes, rattling the windows and causing a building to crumble in the distance. 

His skin feels tighter the longer he’s been hiding his new form, until it’s suffocating. His flight to Rudshore is the first time he’s let his wings out in weeks, and he practically sobs in relief. 

“Time,” Daud replies, his own skin bleeding away to show the man’s true form. His voice sounds like it’s coming from the bottom of a well, echoing and bouncing against itself until it’s all Corvo can hear. “And practice.”

Their claws clash, and Rudshore trembles. 

~

Daud first notices the changes a month after he receives the mark. A ghost-sensation of his jaw elongating. When he looks in the mirror, there’s nothing different, but when he puts his hand to his chin, it extends past the end of his nose, coming to a point almost two feet in front of his face. He tries to sketch what he feels one day, but when he sees it’s a wolf’s skull in place of his face, he crumples the paper and burns it. 

His eyes feel like they’re on fire, and it never fades. 

Extra arms erupt from seemingly nowhere a week after he burns the sketch. He feels along his side for a joint that connects the arm to him, but feels nothing. But the arms respond to him, snatching things from the pockets of people he passes, adding more restraints to his contracts as he slashes his claws across their throats. 

One year to the day after he received his mark, his face seemingly erupts. The wolf skull he could feel but not see is suddenly visible in the mirror, fangs dripping blank ink and blood, seven eye sockets alight with a blue flame. Because he is young, he tries to bark, and the sound shatters the windows of the entire street. 

His phantom claws on each arm are visible now, fingers ending into a knifepoint instead of a normal nail. He slides them together, but instead of the sound of metal against metal, it sounds like stone. 

In the place of his stomach is a mouth. It’s more a gaping maw, jaw open impossibly wide and teeth longer than he is tall, with only the void between.

As he ages, he can feel his extra arms elongating, until he no longer needs to Blink when he can just climb up a building with his arms. 

None of his assassins have a true form. They all remain entirely human. The Outsider never explains why, or how. It frustrates Daud to no end.


End file.
